


The Reluctant Professional

by Rozel



Category: The Professionals (TV 1977)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:33:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29065131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rozel/pseuds/Rozel
Summary: Ray's domestic bliss spoilt  - and he's not happy
Relationships: William Bodie & Ray Doyle
Kudos: 9





	The Reluctant Professional

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. This is possibly the last fan fiction I will write about Ray and Bodie. I've written original stories recently and may well continue with th em. At least I've left the lads happy and contented

Usual Disclaimer  
I don’t own the characters of Bodie and Doyle, or any others from the TV series. They belong to Mark One Productions and Brian Clemens.  
I borrow them to write fiction for my own (and hopefully your) pleasure, with no financial gain to myself or anyone else.

THE RELUCTANT PROFESSIONAL

He put his diary on the floor having filled in a raft of appointments due for next week. ‘Three years,’ thought Doyle. ‘where does time go’?

In this time he’d resigned from CI5, taken up his paintbrush and to his great surprise held a critically acclaimed first exhibition. Then he helped to produce another little masterpiece, when the small nuclear explosion known as Ryan William George Doyle was born. 

In the bathroom, the sound of his son’s laughter and Grace’s measured tones in answer were all Doyle needed to count his blessings. Sprawled in an armchair, he closed his eyes and gave thought to his latest project, trying to put flesh on the bones of his idea. Occasionally he scribbled something on the pad balanced on his knee. He worked steadily, making notes as he went, trying to see where the ideas led.

His peace was shattered as the small boy rushed into the room clad in a pair of bright blue Snoopy pyjamas. Ryan ran over to Doyle’s chair and clambered up on to his lap, scattering pencils and art pad on the floor, engulfing Doyle in the aroma of baby talc and newly washed child. 

‘Daddy. Cuddle,’ demanded the boy. He wrapped his small arms around Doyle’s neck and stood up. Grace followed her son into the study and held back laughter as Ryan bounced up and down on Doyle’s thighs with little concern for his father’s comfort.

‘Say goodnight young man,’ she said, ‘and give Daddy a kiss. Time you were in bed.’

Ryan stopped his jumping and pouted. ‘No. Not going to.’ His bottom lip quivered. ‘Daddy, cuddle.’

Doyle stood up holding the little boy, and carried him out of the room and across the hall to his small bedroom. He placed the child gently in his bed and switched on a dim night light. Ryan howled with indignation at the treachery of his dad, who smiled at his firstborn and gently covered him with a light blanket. Doyle tucked a much-loved teddy bear under the cover and stroked Ryan’s cheek. The little boy, the last ounce of energy dissipating, lay quietly as Doyle spoke gently to him.

Five minutes later, Doyle joined Grace in the lounge. He threw himself on the sofa next to her, and nuzzled her neck. ‘He’s growing up so fast,’ he remarked. ‘Where does the time go?’

Grace playfully punched his arm. ‘Huh. You haven’t lived until you’ve spent a morning at play group with him. Now that’ll have you wishing time would fly.’ She settled herself in Doyle’s arms.

‘How’s it going?’ She nodded towards the discarded artist sketch book. She yawned and snuggled closer to him.

He stroked her hair. ‘I’ve got the germ of an idea. I want to chat to Bryan about it. Could involve photography – that’d be a new venture for me. 

Grace turned and looked up at him. ‘You are happy Ray, aren’t you? You don’t miss the squad?’

Doyle was surprised at her question. 

‘No, not at all,’ he replied. ‘You and Ryan are my life. I didn’t have to think about at all. Anyway, it’s a young bloke’s game and I’m getting on a bit to be chasing around after bad people.’

Grace smiled at him. ‘Makes you sound ancient,’ she said. 

‘CI5 had eight years of my life, twenty-four hours a day all year round,’ he replied. ‘It felt more like 50 years at times. I just got so tired...’ His voice faltered and thickened. ‘Anyway, having kids sort of puts things into perspective. I don’t want Ryan to grow up without a dad – mine was a waste of space. No kid should go through life without their dad.’

Grace pulled him down to her and kissed him slowly.

‘I’m glad that’s settled then,’ she said. ‘Do you remember that city break we had in Amsterdam?’

Doyle smiled slowly as the memories came to the fore. ‘Oh yes,’ he said. ‘I certainly do.’ Visions of the vibrant city, its nightlife and culture sprang to mind. Those, and the long nights of making love to Grace, revelling in her ingenuity and athleticism that left them both breathless and drained. ‘Why?’

Grace propped herself up and looked into his eyes. ‘Because we’re going to have another baby,’ she replied. Doyle’s face split into a huge grin at the news. He pushed Grace down onto the sofa and covered her face with light kisses.

‘You clever girl... another kid... when... how...’

She pushed Doyle off her and burst out laughing. ‘I think you know exactly ‘how’, Ray. The ‘when’ is about April next year. I’m just over two months gone.’

Doyle took her face in his hands and gently kissed her again. They lay contentedly on the sofa, neither talking but communicating through touch and that unspoken understanding that soul mates have. Doyle was conscious of her warmth and her hands that gently stroked his chest, sending a spark of desire that coursed from his chest to his belly and lower.

Such reverie came to a halt, interrupted by the shrill sound of the doorbell. Doyle, swore quietly as he pushed himself up and padded up the hall to deal with the offending callers. Somewhere in the background, Ryan began to cry, his sleep disturbed by the night visitor.

Muttering about inconsiderate visitors, Doyle pulled open the front door and stopped in his tracks. Without a word two visitors walked into the flat and shut the door.

George Cowley began without preamble

‘Doyle, I believe you know ....’ Doyle didn’t give his old boss a chance to finish his sentence. He scowled at his old boss, and began to voice his annoyance at the unwanted visitors. His voice bounced around the hallway. Cowley held up his hand as Doyle’s anger began to heat up. 

‘Stop that laddie and listen to me. We have a problem.... a missing person... and you are the only one I can turn to for this.’

Doyle shut up and ushered the visitors into the lounge, He flipped the switch and the room was flooded with light. 

‘You’ve got some fucking cheek marching into my home with your problems!’ Doyle’s anger ignited by Cowley’s presumption that he would help the old man flared up again. ‘I don’t work for you anymore.’

George Cowley listened to the tirade without comment. As Doyle stopped his rant to draw breath, Cowley saw his chance and spoke.

‘Bodie is missing,’ he said flatly.

Bodie!’ said Grace, as she entered the room. Ryan blinked sleepily in her arms. ‘Oh goodness, what’s happened?’

‘Ah, good evening Mrs Doyle. I’m sorry for the interruption, but my visit is extremely urgent.’ He turned back to Doyle. ‘Yesterday afternoon, Bodie received a message that Cora Sheehan was injured in a minor road traffic accident in the New Forest. He was asked to collect her and her luggage as she has apparently hurt her leg and cannot drive herself. She was apparently resting at her hotel, awaiting his arrival.’

Cowley stared hard at his ex agent. ‘The message was a hoax. Bodie, as usual, threw common sense to the wind and left immediately to see what had happened. He’s not reported in since.’ 

Cowley’s companion, a young-looking woman whose severe bun and well-cut jacket did nothing to detract from her beauty, stepped forward and handed a thin folder to Doyle. At a slight nod from Cowley, she spoke. Her voice was low, almost musical. 

‘I’m Petra Thomas. I’m head of an organisation which works towards creating a cleaner environment. Cora is an expert in environmental management, and agreed to be our guest speaker at our annual conference in Bournemouth.’

The woman continued. ‘There hasn’t been any accident. I spoke to Cora yesterday afternoon and she was fine. She was still at her hotel. I made no mention of Mr Bodie’s situation. She was planning to drive home after the conference dinner tomorrow night.’ 

She tilted her head towards Cowley. ‘Major Cowley thinks the message was sent ensure Mr Bodie would hurry to be with her.’ She stepped back into the shadow.

Cowley pursed his lips and looked at Doyle. ‘I want you to go and see if you can find what’s going on.’ 

‘I don’t work for you anymore George,’ said Doyle darkly. ‘So why come and tell me this. Why should it matter to me?’ 

Cowley’s voice hardened. ‘Because where Miss Sheehan is concerned, Bodie is not always as clear headed as he should be. To just leave without telling anyone is most unfortunate, not to say headstrong. Age certainly hasn’t imbued him with any common sense.’ Cowley continued. ‘Bodie is far too important to take off like a lovelorn Lothario. His role in CI5 is very different nowadays. He is privy to information our enemies would love to have.’ 

Doyle shook his head wearily. ‘George, you have some of the most well trained and committed agents at your disposal. Use your own team. I resigned.’

The Major sighed heavily. ‘I don’t have to remind you Doyle, about the Official Secrets Act do I?’ The old man grimaced. ‘No-one leaves CI5 really, ever.’

Doyle’s jaw jutted defiantly. ‘I have George’ 

The older man suddenly looked tired and beaten. ‘I know laddie, but this is different…

Doyle lifted an eyebrow at Grace, who handed the now sleeping Ryan, to Petra.

‘Hold on to him for a mo,’ she said. ‘Looks like it’s going to be a long night so I’ll make some coffee.’

Doyle ushered Cowley out of the lounge and into his study. He shut the door forcefully and swung round to face his old boss.

‘You’ve got a nerve, coming here and demanding I help.’ He paced around the room. ‘You run CI5 – they are the best. Choose from the team.’ 

Cowley held up his hands as if to ward off the verbal barbs.

‘Who? Who shall I send Doyle? The old team is fragmented. Some have left active service, others resigned altogether. Anson’s emigrated to New Zealand, Jax and Sally are in Hong Kong. Knight and Macintyre retired. Williams is at the Russian embassy and Roberts is dealing with a problem involving the Americans and the Chinese. You know Bodie, how he thinks, how he operates...’

Cowley paused for breath. Doyle watched as the Scotsman searched for the words to carry on. The realisation that George Cowley was very worried about Bodie was not lost on him.

‘The others are too young, too new to the squad. They didn’t know you two as a team... your unspoken rapport with each other... how you worked by instinct and that unsaid communication between you both. You and Bodie were the best, Doyle, and CI5 is lesser because you took the decision to leave.’

As soon as he’d uttered the words, Cowley realised he’d gone too far. Doyle stopped his pacing and faced the older man squarely.

‘So that’s the elephant in the room is it George? You’re blaming me for the breakup of the team? That’s rich! Doyle snorted. ‘Maybe you should have looked closely at the job description! It had a shelf life. I reached thirty five years old with nothing at all to show for it expect some scars and the ability to kill people. Also, in case you’ve forgotten, I nearly died, and I’ve lost count of the number of times me or Bodie ended up in hospital. I’m thirty-eight George, and some days I feel more like eighty-eight...’

The tirade ceased as Grace walked on carrying a tray. She looked at both men, sensing the tension between them. She put the tray down.

‘George, please sit down and have some coffee. It’s quite liberally laced with scotch – you look as though you need it. Ray, yours is the tea. By the way, someone else has turned up... it’s getting to be like a reunion party.’ She turned and beckoned towards the open door. 

A tall shadow fell across the floor followed by its owner. Patrick Murphy shut the door behind him, walked up to Doyle, engulfing the smaller man in a rib crushing hug. Gone was the boyish, slightly gawky young man, and in its place stood a tall and powerfully built individual, alert and with an intelligence in his eyes garnered through age and experience.

‘Good to see you Doyle. It’s been a long time,’ he said. 

Doyle stood back and coolly appraised Murphy. ‘Still with Graham’s mob?’ 

Murphy nodded and looked across to at Grace. ‘How is your dad by the way? 

‘Slowing down at last’, she replied. ‘Leaving the nitty gritty to the likes of you youngsters.’ She turned to the door. ‘Give me a shout if you need a refill.’ She left the room.

Cowley sat quietly, sipping his coffee, watching his two former agents. Murphy pulled up a chair and perched on the arm of it. He looked around the room, noting the tasteful masculinity of the space.

‘You’ve done well for yourself. I saw your exhibition.’ He took a long hard look at a painting on the wall. ‘One of yours...?’

Doyle nodded. 

‘It’s very good,’ said Murphy. The painting was of a nude, lying on a couch. Her face was obscured by her long dark hair, the light dancing off her pale skin suggesting a sparking of sunlight. ‘It’s Grace isn’t it.’

Doyle nodded again.

‘It is, but I’m pretty sure you aren’t here to discuss my paintings. Why are you here Murph? Wouldn’t be anything to do with George’s visit would it?

Murphy’s face split into a grin. ‘Still a snarky little bastard aren’t you?’ he replied without rancour. ‘Of course it is. George called Graham for a favour and here I am. Someone’s got to try and sort out the mess Bodie’s got himself into. Might as well be us. Keeps it in the family so to speak.’ 

Murphy knew Doyle had a lot of respect for Grace’s father, Graham Walker. As head of the Anti Terrorist Unit, he was well aware of Doyle’s background, and thoroughly approved of his son in law’s change of career.

Murphy went on. ‘Come on Doyle, we both know you’ll come in. You’d no more desert Bodie than he would you.’

Doyle turned to face George Cowley again.

‘You’re presuming an awful lot George. I’m different now. Not as fit, no training or knowledge of any new tactics or technologies. I also have a family, and...’ he stopped, unsure whether he wanted these people from his past to learn of the forthcoming addition.

Cowley stood up, dejection and worry ageing him. ‘Just come and see me tomorrow Doyle, please. Hear me out and then I’ll accept your decision.’ He looked up as Grace and Petra entered the room. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt your evening Mrs Doyle. We’re leaving now.’

Doyle nodded briefly as the two other men walked past him. Murphy’s warm smile as he looked at Petra wasn’t lost on Doyle.

With an irritated sigh, Grace sat up and switched on the bedside lamp. Doyle was sitting by the open window, staring out.

‘Ray, for goodness’s sake come back to bed. You know you’re going to go and find Bodie, so just settle down. We both need some sleep... and it’s cold without you.’

Doyle ran a hand over his stubbled chin. He sat down and swung his legs on to the bed, slipping an arm around Grace as she nestled down next to him.

‘I know,’ he said quietly. ‘I have to go. Bodie would if it were me. ‘But it’s not just me anymore, is it? You and Ryan... and... whoever.’ He gently stroked Grace’s belly. She nuzzled her man quietly.

‘Go, Ray. Find out the what and why and tell George. Then come home.’ She kissed his jaw and slipped her arm across his chest. ‘Just come home.’

Doyle strode into a nondescript building just off Northumberland Avenue the following morning. He gave his name to the security guard and waited while the man checked his details.

‘Good to see you again Mr Doyle. The Major is on the third floor, can’t miss his room.’ He handed the younger man a security card which Doyle promptly stuck in his back pocket as the guard opened the door to let him into the depths of the building.

Doyle took the stairs two at a time, pleased that he wasn’t breathless by the time he reached the third floor. 

CI5 had embraced the modern technological advances and the floor was air conditioned for the benefit of the many large computer screens that sat upon desks. He walked across the floor towards a door at the end of the open plan room. Young men and women looked up from their work, taking in the progress of the informally dressed visitor. Doyle was so preoccupied on getting this meeting over and done with, he took little notice of the well-built young man who left his desk and strode towards him, his hand held out as if to stop traffic.

‘Oi mate. You can’t just walk in here you know. This is a private company.’ 

The youngster placed a beefy hand on Doyle’s shoulder, only to find himself suddenly flying through the air before landing heavily on the floor. He groaned and tried to get up, only to be stopped by Doyle’s booted foot on his balls.

Several other staff members jumped to their feet, ready to sort out this brash intruder. Before the situation deteriorated even further, a cool crisp voice cut through the noise.

‘Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, we are actually expecting this visitor.’ The woman continued. ‘Barrett, you might want to think twice before you creep up on Mr Doyle. He knows you’re there, and it’ll end in tears... probably yours.’ 

This to a young man stealthily approaching Doyle’s supposed blind side. Doyle looked up at the voice, recognition stealing across his face.

‘Betty! You’re looking lovely as ever,’ he began. She stared at her old friend, the ghost of a smile playing at her mouth.

‘Doyle, you were given a security pass to display, not stick in your back pocket. Please help Rodgers up from the floor. He was only doing his job.’ She smiled at the hapless young man lying at her feet. Doyle removed his foot and offered his hand to the man.

‘Sorry mate, no hard feelings,’ he said. Rodgers stood up slowly, and turned to face his nemesis. ‘You’re Ray Doyle then? Heard about you from Alpha 3.’ Doyle looked blankly at the man. ‘Didn’t know we had an Alpha 3.’ Rodgers stared at Doyle is disbelief. He nodded towards Betty. 

‘Mrs Gilchrist is Alpha 3.’

‘I see your reflexes are still sharp Doyle, and it’s good to hear you speak of ‘we’ rather than ‘you’.’ Cowley stood at the door surveying the large room in front of him. Staff hurried back to their desks, someone picked up an overturned chair and Rodgers shook Doyle’s hand. ‘It’s a pleasure, sir. Heard a lot about you and Alpha 2... I mean Mr Bodie. All good.’ He returned to his work station.

Doyle followed Betty into the office and across to a seated area overlooking the Thames, Cowley sat down and motioned for Doyle to do the same.

Betty joined them putting a file on the coffee table.

‘Thank you for coming today,’ said Cowley. ‘I owe you an apology about last night. My comment was not meant as a criticism of your decision, merely to point out that when you left, I lost my most experienced and committed team – you and Bodie were a hard act to follow. Things changed rapidly at CI5 after that.’

Doyle nodded.

‘I knew Bodie requested to come away from active duty – we discussed it,’ replied Doyle. ‘He was in two minds. Didn’t want to leave CI5, but also felt he couldn’t take on another partner. I’m glad you made him Alpha 2. Suits him exactly.’

Cowley glanced at Betty. ‘So much for confidentiality Betty.’ 

She grinned at her ex boss. ‘You knew Bodie would ask Ray for an opinion,’ she said. ‘Good job too or we could have lost both of them.’

‘So, Mrs Gilchrist,’ said Doyle. What exactly does Alpha 3 do, apart from looking after Mr Gilchrist?’

Betty giggled, the action making her look younger. ‘I get confused with all these names,’ she said. Getting married and having a new job all round the same time. Mrs Gilchrist, Alpha 3, sometimes I forget I’m both these people.’ 

She twisted the new wedding ring on her finger. ‘Basically Ray, I run the technological side of CI5. After Tim and I married, George offered me this role. More regular hours with more money. I love working here. Also, I found Becky for George, and she is an amazing secretary. University educated, completely at home with these new word processors. Even writes the odd programme for us...’ she smiled as a tall, attractive woman entered, balancing a tray on her arm.

‘Becky, this is Ray Doyle,’ said Betty. 

The woman laughed, tossing her corn braids to one side. ‘Pleased to meet you, sir,’ she said, her voice mellow and full. ‘A legend from what I hear.’ Doyle had the grace to look embarrassed.

The pleasantries over, Cowley guided the meeting back on track. He thumbed through a file, stopping now and again to annotate or re read. Eventually, he pushed his glasses on the top of his head and sat back in the armchair.

‘You know the bones of the situation; Cora was attending this conference last week. Nothing out of the ordinary – it was part of her contract for Petra. However, Bodie received a phone call that Cora was in hospital. His common sense left and he took a car from the pool and drove off.’ Cowley slapped the file down and ran a hand across his face. ‘Since then, nothing. No contact with anyone.’ He glanced at Doyle. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve heard from him recently?’

Doyle shook his head. 

‘I’m sure you’re aware she and Bodie are co-habiting now. I can understand his concerns, but Bodie should have known better.’ Cowley barely contained his irritation.

Doyle reached for his drink. ‘George, you have to see it from his point of view. Meeting Cora changed him for the better. I’m not surprised he took off. She’s the only stable thing in his life and he will do anything to keep that stability.’ Doyle looked tired.

‘I’ll go with Murphy and see what I can find out. But hear this George. This is a favour to you – once it’s over I don’t want any part of CI5 in my life again.’ He stood up and looked down at the ageing soldier. ‘There’s more to duty than queen and country George.’

The following day, Doyle was absently stirring a large mug of tea at a roadside cafe just south of Eastleigh. He smiled at the young waitress. ‘I’ll take one of those iced buns as well please.’

Murphy slurped his tea and gave a satisfying burp. ‘Can’t beat motorway tea’, he said, cramming the remnants of an egg sandwich in his mouth. He sighed theatrically and stared at Doyle’s iced bun. ‘Going to share?’ he said hopefully.

Doyle blinked owlishly from behind a pair of glasses as he sorted through a file and ran his finger along a map. ‘We need to go on to Brockenhurst – that’s where Cora was staying. There’s a big hotel with one of those new conference centres attached... that’s where Bodie would have gone.

Doyle chewed the end of his pen. ‘Er, Petra confirmed Cora left today. She mentioned something about stopping off in Lymington to do some shopping. She’ll probably drive back to London after that. No reason why she shouldn’t. Petra will meet her and explain things …’ 

Murphy smiled at Petra’s name, his grin not lost on Doyle. ‘Rather taken with Ms Thomas are you?’   
Murphy gave another easy smile and stretched his legs out. ‘You could say that’, he replied enigmatically. 

Doyle turned and raised and hand as a tall, wide shouldered man entered the cafe.

Murphy looked up. ‘Know him?’

‘Yeah. He was in the Met with me, before leaving to become a private investigator. He was fooled by Magnum’s life style. His name’s Kelly Garcia, replied Doyle. ‘I asked him to meet us.’

He frowned as Murphy sniggered. ‘Kelly... Garcia!’

‘Irish mum, Spanish dad,’ replied Garcia as he sat down. ‘Good to see you again Doyle.’ He jerked a thumb towards Murphy. ‘Who’s he?’

‘No-one of any importance’ sighed Doyle. Murphy looked hurt.

Kelly folded his legs under the small table and smiled at the men. The waitress walked over and wrote busily as Kelly reeled off his breakfast order.

‘Good to see you again Ray,’ he said. ‘It’s been a while. How’s Grace and the baby.’ Doyle started momentarily and then relaxed. 

‘He’s not a baby any more mate, he’ll be three in a couple of months. All noise and attitude.’

‘Wonder where he gets that from?’ Murphy stared innocently at the ceiling. Doyle kicked him on his ankle.

‘Boys,’ remonstrated Kelly. ‘play nice.’ He pulled out a battered notebook and thumbed through it. ‘Now Ray, about Bodie. He reached the hotel about 6pm last night, spoke to the receptionist and asked for Cora’s luggage. That’s the last anyone saw of him. 

‘…which would suggest he was targeted as soon as he arrived,’ said Doyle. ‘Anyone see anything?’

Kelly stirred a brew so strong it would have stripped walls. ‘No,’ he replied. ‘As far as I can trace, nobody saw him leave and his car’s still there.’

Murphy leaned forward. ‘So to all intents and purposes, he could be here, there or anywhere. How did you find this out Kelly?’

Forking a large mixture of eggs, bacon and mushrooms into his mouth, Doyle’s friend replied. ‘I know some of the night staff at the hotel. In my trade it helps to make such acquaintances.’

Doyle sat there thinking. ‘Did they notice anything unusual at all? Someone there who shouldn’t have been? Someone using the bar but not a guest?’

Kelly swiped some fried bread around his plate. ‘I’ll make a couple of calls. Stay here – won’t be long.’ 

Taking another forkful of eggs, he unwound himself from the table and wandered over to a bank of pay phones in the foyer.

Murphy watched as Kelly sauntered away, relaxed and unhurried. ‘Doesn’t look too upset about this does he?’ he remarked.

Doyle grinned. ‘ He’s a dark horse to be sure, but don’t let that laid back attitude fool you. He’s more than capable of looking after himself, and anyone he’s with.’ Doyle drank the remains of his tea and licked the icing from his fingers. He signalled to the waitress, and asked for the bill.

A few minutes later, Kelly returned and seated himself. His dark eyes were glittering and hard. 

‘Apparently, there was a knees up in the bar last night for some management group.’ Kelly leant forward. ‘… mainly delegates from Russia.’ he narrowed his eyes. ‘Two of them were seen out at Reception when Bodie was there. They haven’t been seen since.’

Forty minutes later the three men drew up outside the stately hotel. The drive had been fast and quiet, the possible involvement of a Russian faction adding to their concerns. 

They remained in the car watching as a number of bleary eyed middle aged men came down the steps. A few still looked worse for wear. They waited patiently as a coach pulled up. An official stepped out and began ticking names off a list. He began counting the waiting guests. Another young man stepped out smartly from the hotel. He looked fresh and alert, his suit expensive and well cut, the shirt so white it hurt the eyes. He walked up to the coach official and took him aside. Both men smiled, cold and feral.

Doyle watched the scene. He stiffened when both the men went back into the hotel. 

‘I’m going inside,’ he said. ‘Those two are up to something.’ Murphy made to leave the car with him. Doyle nodded across to the assembled coach group.

‘Kelly, see if that lot have any information,’ he muttered, closing the car door. 

Kelly got out and walked over to the waiting men. In a loud and jovial voice he began chatting to them in perfect Russian, gesticulating towards the hotel. The men began laughing with him and broke into excited conversation. Doyle walked on as Murphy hurried after him.

‘Is there no end to that bloke’s talents,’ he whispered. Doyle smiled grimly. ‘Told you he was a dark horse.’

Doyle walked up to the Reception and waited behind the man from the coach. He was talking in halting English to the staff. 

‘We are leaving this afternoon and I must settle our bill, we are the industrial delegation.’ The man stood back and looked expectantly at the receptionist. She shuffled some papers and reached for a calculator. ‘Of course Mr Maslov.’ Her well manicured nails flew across the keypad. ‘Twelve double rooms, use of the conference room and…’ she looked up at him, ‘ The Brookland Suite.’

Doyle absorbed this information and stepped quietly aside. He looked around for Murphy, and seeing him jerked an eyebrow towards the lifts.

‘They have a suite. I reckon that’s where Bodie is. Makes sense.’ Casually they rang for the lift.

Upstairs, in the expensive Brookland suite, Bodie opened his one good eye and groggily looked around. He was in the same large and ornate room he'd been taken to twelve hours earlier. He was still tied to the chair and the pain from the earlier beating hadn't diminished at all. His shirt was ripped and did little to hide the array of blue, purple and green bruises that covered his body. Dried blood caked his nose, one eye was swollen and closed. The ropes that held him chafed his wrists. 

He stiffened as he heard a smart rap on the door. One of the heavy-set guards, who had stayed all night walked swiftly to the door. Hurried, quiet words were exchanged, before the door was unlocked. Bodie struggled to see what was going on but only succeeded in causing himself more pain and discomfort.

Maslov and a younger, smartly dressed man walked in. The younger man spoke immediately.

‘Mr Bodie. I am Captain Ivenko. You are coming with us today. I’m taking you to our embassy in London. There are certain people who wish to speak with you about the forthcoming visit of Li Peng. I’m sure you can avail us of the correct details.’

Bodie scowled. ‘It works two ways,’ he growled, his throat dry and sore.’ You tell me where Cora Sheehan is first.’ 

Ivenko smiled coldly. ‘I wouldn’t worry about Miss Sheehan. Your own health is in imminent danger of worsening if you don’t tell us what we want to know.’

Bodie wriggled back into the chair and closed his eyes. ‘Can’t help you I’m afraid,’ he replied. ‘I’m just a lowly civil service clerk…’

Before he could finish, Ivenko stepped forward and struck Bodie a heavy blow around his mouth. Fresh blood began to trickle down his chin. Before he could recover, Ivenko delivered a sharp jab to Bodie’s stomach. He fell forward, gasping as the breath all but left his body. The Russian bent down and whispered into Bodie’s ear.

‘Comrade, you will tell us… probably beg to tell us… before you die!’ He threw a powerful punch onto Bodie’s kidneys. ‘You’ll be pissing blood for a week.’ He turned and left the room, his colleague smirking at Bodie all the while.

As Ivenko and his colleague left the suite, they passed two men arguing over a bar tab outside a room down the corridor. They continued walking laughing loudly and joking about Bodie’s condition. The Russians passed by not even bestowing a second glance on the two ‘guests’. It was possibly the stupidest mistake they ever made. As they overtook, them the ‘guests’ turned and grabbed them. Murphy applied a choke hold that left his victim lifeless on the floor. Doyle had gone for a sucker punch to the stomach, followed by a driving fist into Ivenko’s face. He crumpled wordlessly, eyes rolling upwards. Murphy stood back watching Doyle’s attack. He shook his head dolefully. 

‘No finesse, Doyle.’

Doyle examined his bruised knuckle. ‘Out of practice mate. The most exercise I get nowadays is navigating the pushchair round Safeways.’

‘And it suits you,’ was the reply.

Doyle grinned happily.

The sound of the lift brought them back to the moment. Kelly emerged, and swiftly joined them. He looked at the two unconscious men on the floor. His smile wavered.

‘Could have saved one for me.’

Doyle put a finger to his lips. ‘They wouldn’t have left Bodie alone in that room, so I reckon there’s at least one more inside.’

‘Well let’s not waste any more time then.’ Kelly winked at his companions. They walked down the hall towards the room recently vacated by the two Russians.

Kelly knocked the door. A gruff voice called out, as Kelly listened. He answered swiftly. They heard movement towards the door. All three tensed, unsure of what would greet them.

The door opened, and a cold-eyed man peered through the gap. He had no time left to react, as with a mighty kick, Kelly sent the door flying open. He pushed past the man, shoving him hard. The guard stumbled back and tripped. Doyle and Murphy followed swiftly. The second man was more alert and reached for his gun. Doyle lowered his head and charged at the guard, catching him full in the stomach. As he double over, Doyle grabbed his hair, and sent a pile driving right fist into the man’s face. He sank to the floor, keeled over, and lay still. A third rushed out of the bathroom, and straight into Murphy’s fist. He crashed on to the bed, eyes closed and nose spread all over his face.

The whole incident has taken seconds. Without preamble, Doyle ran across to his old friend, reaching for his Swiss Army knife as he did. With a couple of swift movements, Bodie’s hands were free.

Bodie flexed his stiff wrists. ‘Took your time mate. I’ve been here for almost three days!’ His voice was raspy and his words slurred. Doyle saw the cuts and grazes around his old friend’s mouth.

‘Things to do, places to go…’ replied Doyle ‘… playgroup mornings, supermarket run… proper work,’ he said his words sarcastic but uttered with affection. ‘Can’t drop everything just because you still think you’re young enough to save a damsel in distress.’ 

‘Ah, replied Bodie, ‘but she is my damsel in distress.’ His banter abruptly ceased. ‘I need to get to Cora, Doyle, she’s been hurt in a car accident. I only stopped here to pick up her stuff…’

Doyle held up has hand, stemming the flow of words. ‘She’s fine Bodie. You fell for the oldest trick in the book.’

‘But I got a message from….,’ his friend replied.

Doyle stared at his ex-partner. ‘Thinking through your groin again aren’t you?’ he said witheringly. Bodie opened his mouth to give a sharp retort, saw Doyle’s expression and promptly closed it again.

Murphy broke up this tender reunion. ‘Come on you two. Let’s get Bodie back to the bosom of CI5 and Doyle back to the safety of fatherhood and the Safeways run.’ He bent down and picked up Bodie’s jacket, draping it gently around the man’s shoulders. Kelly was busy on the phone. He looked across at the three friends.

‘Called that number you gave me Murph. The local police are on their way. Asked us to wait until they arrive. Your lot are sending a team too. A couple of blokes from the Foreign Office are also on their way here, with the Russian Ambassador. Someone’s going to have lot of explaining to do,’ he added.

‘It’s going to get crowded around here,’ observed Murphy. ‘We should make ourselves scarce when the party starts.’

Voices in the corridor carried into the room, followed by half a dozen men, some in uniform. A stocky, grey haired man walked forward. ‘Ray Doyle? he asked the room in general. Kelly pointed towards Doyle. ‘That’s him.’

The man walked over and offered a hand. ‘Good morning sir. I’m DCI Graves – your boss, Mr Cowley has been in touch. We’ll take it from here.’ He glanced at Bodie noting the marks from the beating. ‘There’s an ambulance crew downstairs, sir. We weren’t sure if they were needed.’ He jerked his head towards the Russians littering the floor. ‘apparently they will be,’ he observed drily.

The drive back to London was companionably quiet. Bodie, filled with pain killers and sporting a couple of bandages, slept. They dropped Kelly at the service station where he’d met Doyle and Murphy earlier that day, promising to stay in touch and get together for a beer at some point.

They pulled up outside of Bodie’s house shortly before eight in the evening. The big man struggled back to consciousness and with Murphy’s help prised himself out of the car. The front door flew open and Cora ran up the path. She dissolved into Bodie’s arms as her hands sought his face, holding him protectively as she kissed him deeply. Together they walked slowly into the house. Doyle saw the silhouettes of Cowley and Petra in the hall. Suddenly, Cora turned and hurried back towards Doyle. She drew him close to her and whispered into his ear, before kissing him gently on the tip of his nose. She walked backwards, waved, and went inside.

Murphy watched the scene from the pavement, smiling at Petra. She exaggerated a ‘phone me’ gesture before the door closed.

He sighed theatrically and climbed into the driving seat. ‘She’s a smashing woman,’ he said aloud. Doyle grinned to himself.

Half an hour later, he let himself back in his own home. Noiselessly he crept down the hall, not wanting to disturb the peace and quiet that surrounded him. The light in the lounge was on, and he gently opened the door. Grace, attuned as always to his presence, turned round from the TV and greeted her husband with a heart-warming smile. She rose effortlessly from the sofa and walked towards Doyle.

You’re back,’ she said simply, and put her arms round his neck. ‘I always knew you’d come back.’

End


End file.
